A Scotland fan of the soccer variety. Photo / Reuters
Pity the lone Scotsman in a bar full of Marseillaise.
Herald on Sunday rugby correspondent Gregor Paul and myself were wandering back to the hotel when we decided to drop into a local for the second half of Scotland's Euro 2008 qualifier with France.
Paul, who is
only a shock of 'ginga' hair or any hair for that matter away from being a true Caledonian, was pleasantly surprised to see his side were holding France 0-0. So imagine his shock when McFadden's rasping 35-yard shot hit the back of the net.
The final whistle went in front of shocked patrons with the Scots still a goal to the good but still Paul couldn't let out a celebratory yell, just a quietly clenched fist and a smirk straight out of Wick.
In his rush to get out and smile he left his jumper which, incidentally, is not the only thing he's lost this trip.
It was a different story up in Paris apparently with 15,000 tartan Army recruits turning the French capital into McParis for the evening.
Rest assured, it will be the only big game Scotland wins in Paris for the next couple of months.
Earlier in the evening we had eaten at Eric Cantona's restaurant.
A Moroccan joint of some stature, the meals were enormous there was enough couscous to feed a roomful of Green Party voters but the Moroccan red wine was, euphemistically speaking, interesting.
